After church, Palin’s family posed for this picture, on the Alaskan coastline. Palin would later identify Libya in the background.

After two months of arduous campaigning–the My-Fair-Lady-coaching, the six-figure wardrobing, the Katie-Couric-catfight-to-end-all-catfights, etc.–Sarah Palin finally joined John McCain in conceding their party’s nomination to President Elect Barack Obama.

Returning to her office in Anchorage with several McC-aides, the state governor stood in front of a bay window that offered a breathtaking view of the shores of Tripoli, then sighed. “Y’know, I think this may be a historic moment for the North African Free Trade Agreement.” (An aide tried to correct her, but she roguely slapped him across the face). “Their country has never appointed a President, so we should welcome Obama to this continent with open arms.”

Palin’s comments puzzled reporters, who sought to broach the topic of foreign relations with her. She stood on the other side of her governor’s desk, flipping through a magazine. There were eight children in the room, some crawling, others drooling. One was named after a snowmobile company.

A reporter politely asked her what she was reading, and, unable to muster a reply, she started to cry. “If Todd were here” (her husband was out seal-clubbing) “he would tell you what a strain this has been on our family…not to mention our nation. Between Russia rearing its head in our airspace and Africa popping up on our border, foreign relations have become impossible around here.” Noticing the stunned look on reporters’ faces, Gov. Palin pulled down a screen-map of the Bering Strait. “Now do you see? Africa has moved into our sea space!” she cried, her voice reaching a frantic pitch. She began to babble, then speak in tongues.

WASHINGTON: Convening last week for a special session at the White House, Congress agreed to release the legendary “Six Trillion Dollar Man” from captivity. After eight years behind presidential bars, the man (who answers only to monosyllabic grunts, like “W”) has largely remained remote from the general public, which–as his close trainers claim–he fears for its harsh demands for taxes on the wealthy and their glutted corporations.

“W,” who declined an interview with Doubletake (but did gnaw on one of our cameraman’s ears–leaving a mark) replaced the Six Million Dollar Man in 1978 when Steve Austin’s no-bid construction contract with Halliburton expired. Since that time, W has been upgraded twice, in proportion to the amount of debt that he’s amassed along the way (in 2000, Y2-W was re-tooled as the 6 Billion Dollar Man and, after the recent mortgage/bank crises, he has assumed the mantle of 6TDM).

“The Fall Guy” (after cryogenic-hip-replacement surgery)

Top investment banks, which previously bank-rolled the current administration’s rise-to-power, now crumble in the wake of a meltdown that can be traced to the overly inflated price tag of the current administration’s titular tit-head.

“But taxpayers need not be too concerned,” Republican candidate John McCain observed on Thursday, at the White House, “I have a fool-proof plan to get our country back on track.” Anxious Congressional representatives huddled around Senator McCain, who stood calmly next to a shrouded figure. McCain waited until Treasury Secretary Henry Paulsen fell to both knees at Nancy Pelosi’s feet, then whisked the shroud away:

This week, Doubletake’s film staff experienced considerable division over Sergei Bodrov’s epic film, “Mongol.” Half of us enjoyed it immensely (this editor hasn’t seen its like since the Broadway production of “Cats”), and the other half almost stormed out of the theater in an indignant flurry. In order to resolve this dispute, we invited two outsiders to settle the score.

Mr. Khan,

Let me guess. You’re feeling angry, irritable, even a little hostile? Your father was poisoned by Tatars. Until age 12, you ate only locusts and tree bark. When you stick your vassals’ heads on tall pikes, survivors find you “threatening.” Believe me: you’re not alone.

The work of a Mongol is no mean task. You demand utter loyalty from your men, but have you ever asked yourself what you’re really demanding from yourself? Those long hours you spend away from home, plundering and raiding…when you’ve yet to plunder the depths of your own heart?

Maybe it’s time to listen to the wise woman who once said: “it takes a village to raise a child” instead of razing villages to the ground, child-less. Speaking of children, what kind of world do you intend to conquer and leave for yours? Sure, Oqedei is the sole heir, but this might make Jochi, Chaqatai, and Tolui feel a little bit left out. And your 400 neglected illegitimate children: will they, too, spill their seed on fallow ground?

–Dr. Drew

This shaman think he know Mongol, but he don’t. Mongol no rely on fancy shaman-talk or special effect. Temujin, true Mongol, flay his hide with one hand tie behind back, then take hide and make kite, then take small intestine to make string, then use string to fly kite over shaman house in Hollywood hill. Temujin laugh so hard he wake neighbors who form small band to file noise complaint, but Temujin stamp them out like daisies in Gobi desert. Squat team try to stop Temujin but he just get started, not yet slake thirst on blood of celebrity horde that misrepresent him in film. Maybe horde bring producer. Maybe then Temujin stop…if George Clooney agree to play him in sequel.

I638-1639 Marvell becomes a scholar of Trinity. Harold burned at stake for blasphemy (Greek and Latin poems used for kindling). Marvell dismissed from Trinity.

I640 Father dies. Locusts descend, plagues abound, etc.

I640-46: Whereabouts unknown. Rumored to appear, briefly, at May Day celebrations, wearing only a fig leaf.

I650 Marvell opens for Prime Minister’s immensely popular Return from IrelandTour. His Ode, “To the Papist-Bludgeoners, to Make Much of Time,” is sung in field and pub. Cromwell eats live bat on stage.

I650-53 Writes a series of homespun couplets which cloak nationalistic fervor in the guise of talent. Hips gyrate. Women faint.

1653-1657 Fearing for his own life, Milton recommends Marvell for a government position as Pig Latin Secretary (Later, Milton will steal Marvell’s title, “Aradisepay Ostlay”).

1656 Marvell fired for leaving out a poem in his title: “The Second Anniversary of the Government Under His Highness The Lord Protector Upon Whose Most Sacred Pinnacle We Gaze.”

I660 Intervenes in Commons to save Milton. In exchange, casts Spell of Incomprehensibility on Milton’s Syntax.

I661-63 Milton implores Marvell to cure him from the hex.

One letter (lasting three years) begins: “For that Babelling voice, which he who hexed Th’Apocalyps upon my style, heard cry in Heaven aloud, prolonged behind a thousand desperyte clauses, came furious down to be to be reveng’d on men’s Subjects, like Titans long-held captive to serve out never-ending sentences…”

I665-7 England starts war with Holland. Marvell responds by starting an advice column to painters (“First Advice to a Painter,” etc.) War ends. Veiled allegory between War and Paint lost on everyone…except painters.

I670-72 Milton locates Subject at end of sentence…loses his vision. His daughter commences reading aloud for him, hoping to find another Subject so that her father will also lose his voice.

Over the past decade, the American public has slowly but surely unraveled the cryptic, elusive “mystery-wrapped-inside-of-an-enigma” that is Ben Affleck.

We have known him in Boston as Chuckie Sullivan, the brash, ball-busting sidekick in “Good Will Hunting.” We have known him in Hawaii as Captain Rafe McCawley in “Pearl Harbor,” in Las Vegas as Jack Dupree in “Smokin’ Aces,” and even in Texas as that paddle-wielding taunt who got paint-splattered in “Dazed and Confused.” But it’s only recently that Ben Affleck has peeled away yet another layer–this time, to raise public awareness about himself in the Congo.

On Thursday night, ABC’s Nightline aired an exclusive documentary on Mr. Affleck in the Congo, a region which, having suffered the loss of four million people in ten years, can at last find solace in the story of one celebrity’s redemption. The film, based on a journey that Ben’s brother Casey took to Darfur two years ago, features sweeping vistas, live gazelles, and a breath-taking soundtrack with instruments that sound African. Affleck admits that opening up to his fans under such dire circumstances was, at first, very difficult:

“You have to put yourself out there,” he said, “and reveal personal things about yourself to millions of adoring fans who have never even seen me in a movie that has the Congo in it. Sure, they’re on close terms with the Larry Gigli me who kidnaps a retarded man and falls in love with a lesbian assassin, but will they recognize the international rescue worker me who runs a refugee camp for abandoned orphans?”

Ben Affleck’s Inner Gigli

Affleck admits that preparing for the part was the most daunting challenge he has ever faced. “There were days I’d wake up, usually around noon, read over my lines for the day and think, ‘how do I make make that speech stand out with the sounds of gunfire and screaming childless mothers in the background?’ Do I read it right into the camera?–or off to one side like I did in Pearl Harbor :

‘Danny, you can’t die. You can’t die. You know why? ‘Cause you’re gonna be a father. You’re gonna be a daddy. I wasn’t supposed to tell you. You’re gonna be a father.’

Or do I play it like Danny? Or Daddy? I’m not sure. It’s all so nerve-wracking.”

After nearly eight years as unofficial chief executive of the United States of America, Dick Cheney has managed to pull the strings of virtually every member of the Bush administration. What critics and pundits have only suspected about him in the past–his closet muppetophila—a former Press Secretary confirmed last Friday:

“George and all the top White House officials who knew the truth had been deceived–and therefore became unwittingly involved in deceiving me. Had any of them noticed that Cheney insisted on walking behind them at all times, either holding a platform under their feet or dangling strings above their heads—well, then, we might have said something. Actually, come to think of it, George almost did notice once–that is, until Karl Rowlf (the Dog) handed him a cookie.”

—Scott McClellan (giving the “Pull THIS string” gesture”)

Karl Rowlf’s dedication to Bush bordered on obsession; even Schroeder (from “Peanuts”) admitted that his close friend had a serious problem.

Within days after McClellan’s confession, other muppets began to step forward–of their own volition–including Lewis “Scooter” Libby, whose brief, tortured career in the 1970’s plummeted from the heights of glorified minor celebrity to the depths of lowly production assistant. Indeed, in the past two decades, Scooter has fallen out of the spotlight, joining the ranks of Danny Bonaduce, half the cast of Labrynth, and Beaker (after his crippling crystal meth addiction).

Beaker’s near-fatal meth-lab accident.

Retreating to a remote Wyoming ranch in the late 1980’s, Scooter rarely made public appearances, but was also rumored to have rekindled a close friendship with Dick Cheney–both of whom appeared together on “The Muppet Show” in 1979:

Kermit D. Frog, who preceded McClelland as White House Press Secretary, left Bush I’s administration during the first Gulf War. “Dick totally got out of control,” he sighed, “those were his Dept. of Defense days, so a lot of that high-technology went straight to his head. I didn’t mind the smart bombs or the bunker blasters, but when he started talking about ‘Pigs in Space,’ my lady and I got the hell out of there.”

Around this same time, the heavy metal band “Metallica” released an album that not only would target Cheney as a blood-thirsty warmonger but would also cement the band’s reputation as muppet advocates:

She’s all game, and all playas I ;
Nothin’ else is ;
Playas do but play us ; compared to this,
All’s H as a bizzle, all ballin’ a scam.
You, lady, ain’t half as high as me,
In that your herb’s a half-a-dime-bag ;
Your game’s for skeezas, and since that dank’s too dry
To warm the herb, that’s done in warmin’ us.
Smoke here with us, and you are everywhere ;
This crib your center is, these balls your sphere.

–“The Dank’s Risin'” (From The Chronic 1600)

The material above in no way reflects the views of our editors or staff members. In fact, several of our hired underlings found it offensive–Victor Weinberger, Senior Editor, Doubletake

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